


First Bus To Woodstock

by Hekate1308



Series: Tales of the Thursdays [10]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, The Thursdays adopt Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 14:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Detective Constable Endeavour Thursday's first case.





	First Bus To Woodstock

**Author's Note:**

> We have reached the canon retelling I promised! I also just realized that, because I had Morse start working for the police immediately after his studies, everyone is a few years younger in this series than in canon. Oh well, it doesn't matter that much, does it? Enjoy!

During the search for Mary Tremlett, Dev was temporarily drafted to the detective branch, and rather relieved that he wouldn’t be wearing a uniform for the time to come.

When he came downstairs in the morning, wearing his best suit, Win hugged him. “Oh Dev.”

“Looking much less like a penguin than usual” Joan sniggered; she’d almost immediately started to good-naturedly tease him about the uniform when he’d first entered the force, but Fred knew that she was proud of her big brother.

“I don’t know” Dev inspected himself in the mirror and frowned. “Had to redo my tie twice”.

He was a bit nervous, then.

“It shows” Win said brightly. “You’re looking quite the proper young gentleman.”

“Good, that’s his job then” Sam piped up and Dev gave him a grateful smile.

Fred had signed out a car from the station last night and let Dev drive. He enjoyed it quite as much as Fred himself.

“And the family has no idea where she could be?” Dev asked.

He shook his head. “None. If you ask me, the father is worried enough, but doesn’t know that much about his daughter. And her sister and her don’t appear to be particularly close. If I ever had to look for one of you, I’d just ask the others.”

Not to mention that were one of his children was, there was every chance that the other two would show up eventually.

“You said she’s quite a bit older than Mary.”

“You’re ten years older than Sam, and we muddle thorough okay, wouldn’t you say?”

Dev smiled. “Well, there were special circumstances, Dad.”

There had been indeed. “Just do me a favour and keep out if Lott’s way. He’s not exactly happy that you were one of those chosen to help.”

He’d made it rather clear that he considered it nothing but nepotism, a bone thrown to Fred’s oldest.

Rubbish, of course. Dev had earned his place on the time with his hard work and determination to become a great policeman and detective.

“He can’t stand me at the best of times” Dev sighed.

“I don’t think he can stand anyone, except those who pay him to turn a blind eye” Fred said. “Just be careful.”

“First Mother, and now you” he grumbled. Win had indeed told them to come home safe like always, and naturally they had sandwiches with them.

Still – it couldn’t hurt to remind Dev about it now and then.

* * *

In the end, Dad had sent him to welcome the newcomers. It was probably for the best; Lott would have just held a speech how they shouldn’t think they were up to the case in any way, and a fellow DC (of now, at least – Dev had sworn to himself to make it a reality as soon as possible) might bestow a friendlier greeting on them.

Ian MacLeash, who he ended up sharing an office with, was polite enough, even if he asked the obvious question. “So…” he began slowly once they were seated. “Thursday?”

“Yes” he replied matter-of-factly. “DI Thursday is my father.”

“Ah.” To Dev’s surprise, he then added, “Heard you were on Oxford man.”

“I graduated from Lonsdale.”

“And you still decided to become a copper?”

Dev shrugged. “That’s what I always wanted to do, so here I am.”

He accepted that explanation as well.

Dev studied him for a moment, then held out his hand. “Dev.”

“Ian it is, then.”

He was pleasant company, at least, even if their door-to-door enquiries proved fruitless.

* * *

Of course Dev couldn’t help but take a look at the Mary Tremlett file, especially after he saw Lott leave for the night. There was something about the case…

“There's no overtime” Dad’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw from the sparkle in his eyes that he was feeling playful.

“I realise that, _sir_” he replied with a smile.

“So what is it, brown-nosing or sucker for punishment? There's no other kind of bloody fool still in the office at this time of night.”

“Like father like son, I’d say.”

Dad grinned. “Come on, time to get home before Mum reads me the riot act on keeping you at work for so long. We can talk about the case on the way."

* * *

This time, it was Dad who drove, leaving Dev to his thoughts for a few minutes before asking, “So?”

Just to make sure, he repeated the details of the case. “Mary Tremlett, 15 years old, last seen Saturday on four o'clock when she left, supposedly to go to the pictures with another girl, Valerie Qillen; she denies the arrangement though. No boyfriend that her family knows of, and no trouble at home. Doesn’t seem like your typical runaway.”

“I agree, that’s why I’m worried we haven’t found her yet.”

“There is one thing, though.”

Fred threw him a glance. Living under the same roof for over ten years now, he’d developed the same rapport with Dev that he had with his other kids; and it wasn’t difficult to guess what he was thinking.

Especially because there was this one small thing he’d been wondering about himself… and had been the one to make sure the items in question were even pit in the file to begin with. “The books?”

Dev gave him a half-smile. “Should have known you’d notice.”

“There are some things you pick up when your oldest’s a bookworm” he pointed out.

“And you probably know better how much these cost than I do.”

“None of that. You know that as long as we had money, Mum was always going to spoil you three a little. But you are right; seems to me like the books would have been a bit on the expensive side for the Tremletts. Maybe they were gifts?”

“It would have been someone close to her” Dev said slowly. “Are we sure she didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“If she did, her family doesn’t know.”

“Her friends might. Girls gossip about that sort of thing, don’t they?”

“How would I know? Whenever there was something going on she didn’t want us to know, Joan would just run to you to divulge the information, son.”

* * *

Win complained a little that they had come home so late. “Really, Fred, you don’t have to teach Dev your bad habits –“

“I was going through the file, Mother, it was my own fault –“

“Oh, hush, dear, let me warm up dinner for you” she interrupted him, automatically fixing his collar.

Nothing she didn’t forgive Dev for instantly, Fred thought with a smile. But then, there rarely was anything he had to apologize for, anyway.

When he went into the living room, Dev, Joan and Sam were huddled close together and talking quietly.

Of course. Well, let them have their fun.

* * *

The next day, Fred decided to check up on Dev somewhere around noon. Lott might disapprove, but that hardly fazed him.

However, he only found the young constable who’d been partnered with Dev the day before – MacLeash, wasn’t it?

“Constable Thursday said he’d talk to Mary Tremlett’s family, sir” he immediately reported. “I’m supposed to let you know he’ll be back for lunch at the pub.”

“Thank you, Constable.”

What was he up to?

* * *

“What is it you’re looking for?” Mary’s sister asked.

“Oh, just filing in some of the background” Dev replied.

It soon transpired tat the sisters were indeed not close. That in itself wasn’t suspicious, but…

Dev couldn’t help but thin k there was more to it than that. The way she talked about Mary… that wasn’t the tone of a sibling.

But then, maybe Joan and Sam and how close they were had slightly distorted his views on what a normal sibling relationship was supposed to be like. Dad was right – if either of them went missing, they would most likely be having lunch with Dev himself somewhere.

Dev took the books with him.

Only to be intercepted by Lott and roughly told that he had to check out a suicide by the river.

He’d hoped to eat his sandwich in Dad’s company, but no such luck.

“Would you tell –“ he began and Ian snorted.

“Sure. Glad to be of service to the Thursdays.” He was smiling as he said it though, so Dev figured everything was alright.

* * *

He hadn’t met the new medical examiner yet – a small wonder, since until a few days ago, he’d spent his shifts telling tourists what time it was. Dad had told him he seemed competent enough, if a bit eccentric.

Dev took one look at the dead body and had to fight down a wave of nausea. He hadn’t known he had that problem. He’d have to deal with it, of course.

“You are whom?” the doctor asked.

“Detective Constable Thursday. You’re the pathologist, I assume?”

“I would hope so. Otherwise, I’m making one hell of a mess of your scene of crime. Max DeBryn.”

Dev moved to shake his hand before realizing it was covered in a bloody glove.

“Ah. My mistake.” He removed it. As they greeted each other properly he said, “I’ve worked with your father before, I believe.”

“Yes. DI Fred Thursday.”

He nodded; it had simply been a statement of fact. Dev realized to his surprise that the doctor was one of the few who were trying to judge him by his own merits, rather than by the fact he was a superior officer’s son.

“Is it a scene of crime? Initial reports seemed to suggest suicide.”

And so it seems. At least the entry wound would fit.”

Forcing himself to take a closer look (and only slightly swaying in the process) Dev had to agree.

“Squeamish, are we, Constable?”

“I am not used to it” he replied through gritted teeth, “That is all.” Ever since he’d been thirteen years old, he’d wanted to be a detective, and he’d be damned if he let a touch of necrophobia ruin that dream.

“Now, now, steady” Doctor DeBryn said, not unkindly. “Normally they get the hang of it at their third autopsy.”

It wasn’t a pleasant prospect, but it was better than nothing.

“Today at three o’ clock” he told Dev.

He nodded.

“Weapon’s a Webley. Mark VI.”

An old memory of his biological father teaching him to shoot reared his head. “Standard army issue?”

“Your father said you were sharp. Lonsdale, graduated with honours, I believe?”

Dev shrugged. “It was fun while it lasted. Time of death?”

Doctor DeBryn tilted his head to the side, studying him. “Yesterday. Between eight and midnight.”

“Did he leave anything behind?”

“Besides his remains?”

“Like a note.”

“You might have better luck at his lodgings.” He handed him an envelope. “Miles Percival. Address is in Jericho.”

“Would you mind terribly giving me a life there?”

He didn’t, and by the time he dropped him off, they were on a first name basis after a pleasant discussion about Suetonius.

* * *

Miles Percival’s roommate didn’t really know anything of importance, but he could tell Dev that he’d studied at Lonsdale. What were the odds.

He’d heard of Doctor Stromming before, of course – although he’d never taken any of his courses.

Stumbling across Alex Reece was neither a pleasant nor an unpleasant surprise. They’d never been close friends – as, for example, he’d been with Jerome; he reminded himself to call him, one of these days – but they had gotten along well enough.

“Dev? What are you doing here? Lats thing I heard, you were still the pride and joy of the Oxford city police.”

He ignored the slight judgemental tone; he was well aware that Alex considered him a fool for declining Professor Bell’s offer. “I have police business with a colleague of yours. Doctor Stromming.”

“You won’t find him in. Lunch?”

Dev didn’t accept the invitation; he’d rather finally catch up with Dad later.

* * *

The last thing Dev had expected was to meet Rosalind Calloway. He had several of her records – like Dad had pointed out, Mother loved to spoil them a little – and he was afraid he seemed a little star-struck.

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind.

And she was nice enough – at least Morse quickly decided that he liked her better than her husband; but then, he’d met his fair share of professors. Maybe he was biased.

* * *

At three, he squirmed his way through the autopsy, wondering why anyone would want to be a pathologist. Max was at least understanding about it all.

What a waste, Morse thought as he looked down at the man who was only a few years younger than him. Had been. What a waste.

* * *

When he finally got around to leafing through Mary Tremlett’s books, he found a crosswords puzzle with only tow clues filled. It struck him as rather strange; and so, he decided to take it with him.

He all but sprinted up the stairs in his search for his own copy of Matthew Arnold’s poems, and had just found the line when Joan knocked on the door to his and Sam’s room. “Dev? Dinner’s on the table, and let’s just say, Mum and Dad are not very happy about you ignoring them.”

He sighed and came down the stairs, Joan telling him about her day as he did so. “Sorry” he said, sounding sheepish to his own ears. “I had an idea.”

“Obviously” Dad stated, “Couldn’t get a word out of you the whole drive.”

“And you look drawn-out” Mother said immediately, “Now sit down, young man.”

He thought it best to comply.

* * *

“Poems?” Joan asked when he’d finished explaining. “This couldn’t be more the perfect first case for you if the killer had _tried_.”

“What poem?” Dad asked with a sigh, having apparently resigned himself to discussing his work at the dinner table.

“The Scholar Gipsy by Matthew Arnold” he replied.

“Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes!” Joan and Sam began almost at the same time, grinning at one another.

“Exactly. That and a time is the only clue she filled out – so we got Bagley Wood –“ Dev stopped abruptly when he realized.

He met Dad’s eyes and decided to change the subject. “You will never guess who I met today.”

Joan, who had been given singing lessons for her last birthday and had already made great progress, was just as amazed as Dev himself. “Rosalind Calloway? She’s one of the greatest British sopranos!”

He nodded. “Gave up her job mostly after her marriage, though.”

Joan huffed. “As if that would stop me.”

Dev shrugged. “I assume tours can put a strain on a marriage, especially when your husband’s an Oxford don and can’t accompany you.”

At least it made the others forget about Bagley Wood.

Dad didn’t, of course. “We’ll have to check it out tomorrow” he sighed over their after-dinner drink. “I hope you don’t mind, son, but I really hope you’re wrong.”

“I am hoping the same.”

* * *

He wasn’t wrong. The next morning, he was just trying to explain his theory to an unimpressed DS Lott and DCS Crisp when the call came in.

Female body, found in Bagley Wood.

He swallowed and looked at Dad.

And then they were on their way.

* * *

It was the first time Dad had seen him around a dead body, so he did his best to give off the impression that he wasn’t bothered. He told himself that he was already doing better and almost believed it.

It _was_ Mary Tremnlett, of course. Another young life snuffed out.

* * *

Dev had really hoped that he would do better during his second autopsy than the first, but the opposite was true. He didn’t remember fainting – just feeling dizzy, and then Dad’s voice.

“Dev? Dev!? It’s going to be alright, son –“ he lowered him onto the ground.

“Has he eaten today?” Max inquired.

Dad cursed. “No. We wanted to check out Bagley Wood, so we just had tea –“

“Best get him to a pub and let him have that sandwich your wife always provides you with, Inspector.”

So they did just that, with Dad adding a pint to Max’s recommendation. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed. This has happened to others before you, and it will again.”

“I just hope Lott doesn’t hear about it” he muttered into his hand.

“I don’t think Doctor DeBryn’s one to tell tales. And you were right about Bagley Wood.”

Dev looked up. “I misjudged her sister” he admitted, recalling her pain upon leaning Mary was dead with regret. “I thought there was something strange about their relationship.”

“Dev, you think that of all siblings who aren’t as close as you, Joan and Sam, and that’s most of the population.”

It didn’t make him smile, like Dad had probably hoped, but it made him feel a little better.

* * *

Dev spent the afternoon making enquiries and laboriously typing the report on Miles Percival. He could ‘t shake the feeling there was something missing…

He’d tackled crosswords by Oz before and was not surprised that he had also kept the pseudonym when corresponding with the Oxford Mail.

He knew that Dad had worked with Miss Frazil before, so he wasn’t surprised when she said, “Thursday? You must be the oldest son your father always talks so much about.”

He looked down to hide his smile.

“Don’t look much like him through, do you” she added, not unkindly.

“I was adopted.”

“Oh, I didn’t –“

“It’s alright” he interrupted her with a shrug, and it truly was. After all, it was just a fact, and a rather unimportant one at that.

* * *

While Dev had had the feeling there was more to Miles Percival than met the eye, he was more than a little surprised to learn that he had been Mary’s boyfriend. His heart sank. He could just imagine what Lott would think.

He was right, of course; the DS immediately started to surmise that Miles had killed Mary and then himself in a fit to remorse. He wanted to argue, but Dad gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, so he kept silent.

He followed him to his office, though. “Dad, what –“

“Nothing good would come from going up against Lott, Dev. You have to choose your battels.”

“But he can’t have killed Mary. He doesn’t seem the type” he insisted.

“If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that killers often don’t look like killers.”

“But –“

“Look” Dad interrupted him with a sigh. “You can keep working the case, just make sure you don’t get in Lott’s way. And be careful.”

It was better than nothing.

* * *

When Miles’ roommate told him about his suspicions, Dev felt nauseous. Dear God, it was as if Dad had fooled around with a girl Joan’s age.

Stromming denied it of course and only told him about the “lessons” he’d given Mary. Dev was gladder than ever that he’d never been his tutor.

He seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he suddenly said, “Apt? No, I wouldn’t have described her quite like that – unlike you, Constable. Doctor Bell’s still grieving your decision.”

He’d probably made enquiries about Dev, then. Dad was right. He’d have to be careful.

Accidentally meeting Alex, he heard the same from him.

Apart from his opinion on Mary, which didn’t strike Dev as particularly good-natured. “You never used to be so cruel”.

“Wake up, Dev. It might have been a good idea to leave college after all – you’re not exactly cut out for it, are you? Too bloody decent.”

If this was what it meant to be an Oxford don, Dev would take being too decent any day.

* * *

When he returned to the station, he knew immediately that something was troubling Dad. But it was equally obvious that he’d only tell him when they were alone, and away from work.

“Lott’s been tempering with the evidence.”

Dev was rather glad that it was Dad who was driving them home once more. “What!?”

He nodded, looking grim. “He took a piece of paper out of the file.”

Dev cursed. “this is worse than I thought.”

“Nothing we can do about it right now.”

Dev looked out the window, his hands balling into fists. Two young people had lost their lives, and Lott had nothing better to do than –

He had an epiphany. “I met a traveller from an antique land who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert... near them, on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, tell that its sculptor well those passions read which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, the hand that mocked them and the heart that fed; and on the pedestal these words appear: “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings…” he muttered to himself.

“Isn’t that one of those romantic guys? Keats?”

“Shelley” he answered. “Dad, I think – I think Doctor Stromming is Oz.”

* * *

As they had decided, he went to see Stromming the next morning. This time, he had no choice but to tell him the truth about their affair – and that he, or rather his wife, had sent in the wrong puzzle.

She didn’t want to believe that her husband was having an affair, but Dev supposed he wouldn’t have wanted to either if he’d been in her shoes. His heart sank when he heard her utter the name Miles Percival, though; undoubtedly Lott would consider this another proof of his theory.

Mary deserved better than to be written off as the victim of a lovers’ quarrel, and Miles deserved better 5than to be remembered as a killer.

He and Dad decided to appeal to Crisp, only to be shot down by Lott yet again – and with information that seemingly made it impossible for Stromming to have been involved.

* * *

“But he can’t have seen Mary” Dev insisted. He could feel it in his bones – Mary had been killed on Saturday evening, not Sunday morning.

“So you are saying the witness is lying?” Lott taunted him.

“No, I just –“

“And what about the watch? And the fact that Miles Percival was the one to post the crosswords puzzle? You might think you have what it takes to be a detective, but in the end you’re just daddy’s darling who –“

“That’s enough, Lott” Dad barked from behind them.

Dev turned around and clearly read his expression; he definitely should make himself scarce for a while until this had blown over.

Well, he could do Lott that favour.

* * *

Ian had offered to accompany him, but he’d rather be lone to gather his thoughts.

Until he saw Rosalind Calloway in the pub and was reminded of her expression when she had asked about her husband’s affair. He should probably apologize – it was the decent thing to do.

“Rowan told me” she began after they had sat down with their drinks, “that you took Greats at Lonsdale and had the chance to work there. Is that true?”

“Yes”.

“And how on earth does a Greats man end up a detective?”

“My father is a policeman. Detective Inspector Fred Thursday.”

“Ah. That’s what I suspected. And your mother?”

Dev hesitated.

Her face fell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“No, no, it’s just – I’ve had two. My biological mother died when I was twelve; my adoptive mother is still alive, though.”

“What’s she like?”

Dev thought for a moment. “Kind. Gentle. Tender. She was a nurse before she married Dad.” He smiled. “She spends a good part of every day fretting that we don’t eat enough.”

As a mater of fact, he should probably go home to be on time for dinner. He had been neglecting the others somewhat in the last few days, he thought regretfully.

And so he bid Mrs. Stromming goodbye and went home.

* * *

“Don’t worry, Lott won’t make any more comments like that” Dad told him. “I made it absolutely clear what I think of that.”

“How dare he” Joan fumed. “He was probably the one who only got where he’s at because he knew the right people and now he dares go around and be a –“

“Joanie” Mother interrupted her gently as she gave Dev a second helping with a smile.

“Sorry”. She took a deep breath. “Want to sing later, Dev?”

“Of course.”

Yes, it had been a good idea to return home.

* * *

The next morning, Dev decided to speak to DCS Crisp alone. If their talk backfired, he didn’t want it to reflect negatively on Dad.

He wasn’t in.

And that was when Dev saw the picture of his daughter on his desk.

The poor girl was frightened out of her wits when he went to see her.

But she told him the truth about Samuels.

* * *

Dev would later think that he shouldn’t have stormed into the man’s business like that, but he couldn’t help himself. All he could think of was someone using Joanie like that – he was simply seeing red.

He probably should have seen it coming that he’d call Lott.

“You went to see Teddy Samuels.”

“Yes, he's running parties out of some big pile by Wolvercote. Underage girls. Mary was there Saturday night.”

“I don't care where she was Saturday. She was fit and well Sunday morning. Miles Percival picked her up.”

“Yes, well, he would have been hard-pressed to do that, wouldn't he? Seeing as he didn't own a car.”

“What the hell do you think you're about?”

“Pursuing inquiries.”

“And who gave you leave to do that?”

“_I _did” Dad interrupted them “Because, like it or not, I am still a DI and I can order a DC to his job. On your way, Dev. We’ll talk later.”

* * *

He had rightly assumed that with “later” Dad meant “as soon as possible” and had repaired to his office.

Barely five minutes later he stormed in. “That’s it. Let’s show Teddy Samuels who upholds the law around here.”

It was when Dad wanted to send him away that Dev grew alarmed. “Your tobacco’s always in your right pocket” he pointed out, but it quickly became clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Dev returned with empty hands to find Dad with a package in his own and Teddy Samuels with a bleeding nose.

He swallowed.

Later, in the pub, he began, “Dad –“

“Save your breath”. When he saw Dev’s face, however, his expression softened. “I didn't march half way across the world to put Jerry back in his box for jumped-up spivs to end up running the show at home, Dev.”

“What about the law? There's right and there's wrong” he said, feeling rather helpless.

“I know which side I'm on.”

Yes, that he had to believe; Dad wouldn’t just break the law for nothing. “What’s in the package, then?” He might have considered bribery if he hadn’t known his father so well. But him taking money from someone like Teddy Samuels… it was impossible.

“You could have told me” he breathed when he saw the pictures.

“Figured it was safer for you not to know until I could get my hands on whatever Samuels was using to blackmail Crisp. I didn’t want anyone to come after you.”

Dev wanted to tell him that this risk was part of his job now too, but was well aware that Dad would never accept that.

* * *

Later, Dad had gone to see the Tremletts, and Dev was going through the evidence again.

And that was when he noticed.

“Do you know much about women’s clothing?” he asked Ian.

“I know they look better off than on.”

“Not what I meant. Look at this – it’s a 36C.”

“And?”

“Means Mary couldn’t have worn the dress found next to her. It’s my sister’s size, one size smaller than Mary’s.”

“But then –“

“Constable Thursday, DCS Crisp wants to talk to you” Jenkins called out, “And I am warning you, he’s not in a good mood.”

Dev nodded and went, his head still full of the dress.

* * *

“Now, I want you to think very carefully. Did DI Thursday hit Teddy Samuels?”

Dev looked at him.

“I am not asking you to rat your father out” he said, his voice dropping, “But let’s just say, a young officer who holds the law in such regard that he’s even ready to be a witness against his own flesh and blood certainly deserves some consideration on his way up the ranks.”

Dev was disgusted. Yes, Dad shouldn’t have hot Samuels, but by God, the bastard had deserved it.

And so he took a deep breath and lied.

“Get out of my office” Crisp spat through gritted teeth and Dev did exactly that.

* * *

He well knew that Dad would have advised him to get out of the station for a while, so he decided to follow up on the dress.

He was absolutely certain. Mary couldn’t have worn it.

However, he had only been to three boutiques when a car came to a halt next to him and Dad called out, “MacLeash told me what you were doing. Get in; there has been a development.”

And so they spent the rest of the day learning the truth about Mary Tremlett and Teddy Samuels, and Dev couldn’t help but think that it seemed extremely unfair that it was Mary’s mother – not her sister, he had been right – who would end up in jail.

* * *

“Now, then” Dad began when things had calmed down, “What’s that about Mary’s dress?”

He explained.

“Alright. Ask MacLeash for help, and see what you can do.”

* * *

When he realized, he burst into Dad’s office. “Mary was killed on Saturday!”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, for once, her last meal isn’t my idea of breakfast. And then –“

“But the witness –“

“Let me explain. I know how she did it.”

“She?” Dad asked slowly.

Dev took a deep breath and nodded.

* * *

“Joan’s going to be devastated” he muttered into his hands. “You know how much she looked up to her.”

“Oy” Dad said, squeezing his shoulder, “The soprano you two admired died the second she decided to kill a young girl. That’s all there is to it.”

A pause.

Then, Dev looked u0p and nodded.

“Come on, let’s get home. Nothing a good meal and some rest won’t fix.”

Joan was subdued when she heard the news, but her spirits soon rallied again, thank God.

* * *

“It might not be a great consolation, but at least we got Crisp and Lott out of the station” Dad said, pouring them both a drink after dinner.

Dev supposed that was true.

“Now” he continued with a half-smile, passing him his glass, “We just have to make sure you’re made a detective soon. Maybe crack a few normal cases. I mean, what are the odds of something like this happening again in Oxford?”


End file.
